


The Steward and His Lady

by Undomiel5



Series: The Forgotten Princess [8]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 15:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8253431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undomiel5/pseuds/Undomiel5
Summary: Eowyn dies after her battle with the Witch King. Faramir, instead, meets Gloredhel, an Elven lady of royal blood, during his time in the Houses of Healing. They later marry. This story chronicles their life together from their first meeting in T.A. 3019, their marriage and children, his death in Fo.A 82, and the effect on his immortal wife.





	1. Third Age 3019

T.A. 3019  
March 20   
Minis Tirith: The Houses of Healing

A new day had dawned over Gondor. The sun shone brightly over the White City, and the weather was fair. Yet, a pall hung over this same city, for the inhabitants were in great fear of the dark lord and those he commanded. But this spirit of dread was less prevalent in those who dwelt in the Houses of Healing on the Sixth Level. Here dwelt those brave men who had fought and been injured in the Battle of Pelennor Fields less than a week before. 

In these halls walked Faramir, now the Steward of Gondor after the death of his father, for he was not yet healed from his grievous wounds. Here the Warden of the Houses of Healing found him now looking eastward, now speaking an encouraging word to one or other of the inhabitants of this House.

“Stay a moment, my lord,” the Warden said approaching the Steward, “I would speak with you for a moment.”

Faramir paused and turned back when he heard the words of the Warden. “What do need, sir?”

“Your help, my lord,” The Warden replied. “There is in my care, sir, an elf, one of those who rode in the Grey Company. She was injured during the battle and now rests here in these halls.”

“She?” Said Faramir in surprise.

“Yes, lord, an elf lady. . . . I didn’t know that the elves sent their women into battle.” The warden replied. It was obvious that he thought this practice quite strange and not altogether pleasing.

“It is not unheard of among the elves, but it is certainly uncommon.” Said the Steward. “Please, continue.”

“Of course, sir. As I was saying, she was injured during the battle. Now that the Host has set out into the East, she will not rest. She just walks back and forth in the gardens. She will not listen to me when I tell her to rest.”

“And you wish me to speak with her?” Asked Faramir.

“Yes, my lord, perhaps she will be more willing to follow your commands.”

“How badly is she hurt? Will this restless pacing do her harm?” 

“For an elf her wounds are relatively minor.” Replied the Warden. “She has several broken ribs, a wound on the side of her face, and a broken wrist and several broken fingers on her left hand. The only wound she might aggravate is her twisted knee. Since she is an elf, her knee should heal anyway, but it will heal more quickly if she would rest.”

“I will speak with her.” Said Faramir. “Where is she? And what is her name?”

“She walks still in the garden. The two elf princes who brought her here called her Gloredhel.”

“Very well, thank you, Warden.” And saying this Faramir left the Warden and made his way toward the gardens. 

Faramir’s first sight of this mysterious elf was as he walked down the short flight of stone steps that led to a small garden from where one could look east. The elf lady had for the moment ceased her pacing and stood looking eastward. Faramir, curious, stood watching her for a moment. The elf was quite tall, not much shorter than Faramir himself. Her hair was golden and was pulled back in one long braid. She was dressed in what appeared to be a tunic and trousers of a dark color, and over her shoulders lay a cloak of grey cloth.

As Faramir stepped off the last step onto the grass, the elf lady turned, her keen ears picking up the sounds of his approach. As they were too far off yet for polite speech, she didn’t speak but waited for him to approach. For a moment Faramir had another chance to study her now that he could see her better. Even injured her manner was stately and dignified. Her bearing was upright, her face queenly. More plainly now he could see her injuries. The expression of her face and of her keen blue eyes was marred by the bandage wrapped around the right side of her face and over her eye. Her left arm and hand were splinted and hung in a sling; her good arm was wrapped protectively around her injured ribs. Faramir could also see by the way she was standing that she was trying to keep her weight off her injured knee.

Faramir stopped a polite distance away from the elf. “Lady Gloredhel, I presume.”

“I am” She replied her voice polite but restrained. “But tell me lord, if you are the Steward, as I believe, is there any news about those who have ridden east?”

“There is no news yet, lady, which would soothe a troubled heart. All we know is that the Captains have crossed into the Morgul Vale.” Faramir replied. 

She sighed heavily and turned away. “I should be with them. I should be with them.” She murmured softly seeming to forget for a moment that anyone else was there.

Faramir pitied her, for he could see that she was deeply troubled by something. Thinking of the Warden’s wish he moved a short distance away to where there was shade from a small tree. Faramir perceived that he wouldn’t get very far by simply telling her to do something, but perhaps he might get her to rest by another means. “Won’t you sit and talk with me for a little while, lady?”

Gloredhel agreed and moved over to where he was standing. Faramir assisted her to sit down on the soft grass and then sat down himself about an arm’s length away.

“The Warden tells me that you rode in the Grey Company.” Faramir said once they were seated.

Gloredhel glanced over at him for a moment with her keen eyes, but seeing that he was speaking sincerely, she replied, “I did.”

“If I might ask, how came you, a lady of high rank, to ride with the Grey Company to battle and possible death?” 

“Oaths made long ago led me here; oaths that constrained my brother and myself to protect Elrond and his children.” Gloredhel said softly. She took a deep breath and for a moment looked east before bringing her attention back to her companion sitting nearby. “I am an elf of the House of Elrond. For many long years I have dwelt there in safety, though I sometimes carried messages to the other Elven Realms for Master Elrond. But most the time I have dwelt in Rivendell serving as an advisor to Lord Elrond. But when the Grey Company decided to ride south to seek Aragorn, I chose to ride south with Elrond’s sons while my brother remained in Rivendell with Lord Elrond. I traveled with them south. I was there when they met Aragorn at Dol Baran; I followed them through the Path of the Dead, and I fought with them at Pelagir and at Pelennor Fields. I was injured there with many wounds. I am told that the ‘elf princes’ brought me here. And here I have stayed, waiting, watching, hoping . . . and praying. ”

All was quiet for a few moments after Gloredhel brought her explanation to a close. Then she spoke again. “But why have you sought me, my lord? Surely not just to see why an elf lady rode in the Grey Company?”

“Nay, lady, not for that purpose, thought I did wonder.” Faramir replied. “I come on behalf of the Warden of this house. He worries that you will aggravate your injuries by your restlessness and hoped that I might be able to convince you to rest.”

“I see.” For a moment her face showed a trace of annoyance, but then her face cleared. “I will rest now.” She said. “I do begin to grow weary.”

Faramir stood and then gave the lady a hand to arise. Together they started to walk inside. They were part up way the steps that led indoors, when Gloredhel stumbled badly. She would have fallen, but Faramir caught her arm.

She reached out her hand to the wall to help steady herself. Once she was steady, he released her arm. “Are you alright?” He asked.

She nodded. “Yes, I’m alright. This bandage on my face throws off my depth perception.”

“Why don’t you take my arm, lady, until we reach your quarters. The Warden would be very unhappy with me, if you received a new wound on my watch.”

Gloredhel gave a small smile and took his arm, and they continued inside. Faramir saw her safely to her room and then left to search for the Warden.


	2. Fourth Age 8

Fo.A. 8  
Early April  
Gondor

The sun shone brightly high in the sky, and the birds were singing as Gloredhel made her way down the front steps of the House. Mablung who had formerly served with the Rangers of Ithilien during the War of the Ring stood holding two horses at the foot of the steps. Gloredhel’s husband Faramir, the Steward of Gondor, had journeyed to Minas Tirith several days before, and now Gloredhel and their young son Elboron were about to depart Emyn Arnen to join him in the White City. 

As Gloredhel reached the bottom step, she paused and looked around herself for her son who had been right behind her a few moments before. “Elboron, where are you, my son?” She called looking back toward the house.

“Here I am, Mama,” replied a small boy of about six who appeared out of the house and started to trot down the steps toward the horses. 

“There you are, my boy.” Gloredhel said with a smile as her little son stopped beside her. “Are you ready to go see father?”

Elboron nodded eagerly for he was missing his father greatly. Gloredhel only reply was a small smile. She then turned and taking the reins of her horse from the ranger mounted her horse, a stallion with a dapple grey coat. Once she was settled on the horse’s back, the ranger lifted Elboron up onto his place in front of his mother. After the ranger had mounted his own horse, the two riders urged their horses into a trot and then a canter and made their way out of the town on what they believed would be a simple journey north to Minas Tirith. 

Gloredhel’s plan was to travel the twenty-five miles north to Osgiliath where she could the Anduin and then turn back south-west the ten miles to the city. If all went well they would reach Minas Tirith by dinner time.

The first hour-and-a-half of the trip went well. Gloredhel and Mablung kept their horses to a trot or a slow canter. Elboron entranced by all the interesting things to see was quiet and well behaved. They had traveled about ten miles when Mablung spoke, breaking the silence of the quiet afternoon.

“Lady,” he said pointing up the road thereby drawing her attention to several figures about 200 yards ahead of them.

Gloredhel looked towards where Mablung was pointing. Her keen eyes could see them clearly, but she did lift one hand to shade her eyes from the bright sun as she gazed ahead.

“I see them. It is the odd that they don’t have horses. There aren’t any villages near here, are there?”

“No, lady,” replied the ranger, “the closest town is Emyn Arnen or Osgiliath depending on which way one travels.”

The lady did think it a little strange, but thinking that the figures might be hunters or travelers who had lost their way and their horses, she didn’t feel that they were a threat. She would come to regret that thought very quickly. 

Gloredhel and Mablung continued forward, keeping their horses to a fast trot. The distance between the two groups closed quickly. The lady began to grow slightly apprehensive as she caught a better look at the other party; they were swarthy, rough looking fellows who had obviously not had the benefit of a bath in many days. Gloredhel began to think that these people might not be the lost or innocent travelers she first though them to be. 

As the parties began to draw abreast, the leader of the other company hailed them, and Gloredhel and Mablung were forced to bring their horses to a halt. 

With his three companions hanging back a few paces, their leader stepped forward. His repulsive face was dirty and badly scared on one side. Gloredhel believed that he was part Southron. His voice, when he spoke, was heavily accented. “Is this the road to Pelagir?”

Mablung replied, “You three are on the wrong side of the river. The road you want is on the west bank. You must be strangers here. You’ll want horses if you want to go all the way to Pelagir; that is near 100 miles from here.”

Gloredhel was watching the Southron carefully as he spoke with the ranger. He held one hand in the air dangerously near the bridle of Mablung’s horse and drifting closer, and his other hand was much too near his dagger for comfort. As Mablung turned slightly while giving directions, Gloredhel saw the Southron start to make his move.

“Mablung, watch out!!” Gloredhel tried to shout a warning, but it came too late. 

The Southron grabbed a hold of the horse’s bridle with one hand and drew his dagger with the other. One of the Southron’s companions lunged forward and wrenched the reins of her horse from Gloredhel’s hand. (She had only been holding them loosely with one hand as one arm she kept around her son.) The other two, who were carrying bows, notched arrows and drew their bows in a flash.

Mablung had instantly gone for his sword, as Gloredhel shouted a warning, but he arrested his hand as the Southron spoke a dire warning.

“Don’t do it, if you want your wife and boy to live.” 

A heavy scowl was on his face, as Mablung released the hilt of his sword and moved his hand slowly out of the way. The mistake of the bandits was good in Mablung’s mind, for he feared what might be done to the Lady and her son if the bandits realized they were not his family or worse if they realized they were the wife and son of the Steward.

“What do you ruffians want?” He growled in reply.

“Now, now,” the Southron replied with a sneer, “words like that don’t exactly add to my patience.”

Gloredhel watched this exchange with trepidation. She didn’t fear for herself but for her little son who sat in front of her. She would have gladly moved him behind here to put her own body between him and danger. As a last resort she had the dagger hidden under her cloak, but for now she bided her time, and let Mablung do the talking. All she could do was wrap both her arms around her terrified son and hold him tightly. She shushed him quickly as he tried to speak, “Shush, my son, not now.”

“What do you three gentlemen want?” Mablung rephrased his words, but this time spoke with a slightly mocking tone.

“That’s better.” The Southron replied, seeming to ignore the other’s tone of voice. “All we want are your horses and those supplies I see.”

Mablung would usually have hesitated, fearing that it might be a trap, but in the end he knew that he had no choice one way or the other.

“Very well.” His anger was apparent on his face. “You get the horses and the supplies, and you let us go.”

“That’s what I said ain’t it.” The Southron said with a sneer.

Mablung moved to dismount, but a shout from the Southron made him pause.

“The sword first! Give me the sword! Slowly now.”

With a low growl Mablung slowly pulled his sword from its sheath and handed it down hilt first to the Southron, who in turn releasing the bridle took a large step backward and hurled the sword away into the grass on one side of the trail. 

Now Mablung was allowed to dismount without incident. The ranger moved around and lifted Elboron from his mother’s horse. After patting her horse’s neck, Gloredhel quickly dismounted. She held out her arms for her son. The terrified boy as soon as he was back in his mother’s arms clung to her, wrapping his short arms around her neck and hiding his face in her tunic. Mablung turned back to the bandits, carefully keeping his body between them and Gloredhel and Elboron.

“You have the horses. Now go, and let us be.”

The ruffians did exactly that. They mounted two to a horse and set out at a fast clip back down the trail. As soon as there was a safe distance between the two parties, Mablung hurried off the trail to retrieve his sword, and Gloredhel turned her attention to soothing and comforting her frightened son.

“We’re alright now, my son. The bad men are gone.” She rocked him as best she could and kissed his forehead.

“I want Papa.” The little boy sobbed.

Gloredhel kissed his forehead again and held him close. “I want Papa also, my son, but Mama needs you to be her brave little boy. Can you do that for Mama?”

Her only reply was another sob. Elboron, who had lived in a safe environment for all of his short life, had been thoroughly frightened by his first encounter with evil men. All Gloredhel could do was hold him tight and try to comfort him.

Mablung returned with his sword in just a few minutes. He looked carefully both ways on the trail and only when he saw that they were alone did he return his sword to its sheath.

“Forgive me, lady.” He said turning to Gloredhel. “I should have known.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Mablung.” She replied. “I did not discern their intent either until it was too late, and I have seen human nature for far longer than you have.”

“I should have known anyway.” The ranger said with a shake of his head. “It was my task to protect you, and I failed.”

“You didn’t fail.” Gloredhel replied sharply. “We are all still here, aren’t we?”

Mablung opened his mouth to say something but then thought better of it and was quiet.

“What best be done?” Gloredhel asked after a moment.

“The only thing we can do: start walking. We might wait hours for another traveler to pass this way, and we won’t be missed until tomorrow.”

Gloredhel was silent for a moment, as she looked far down the trail in front of them. Somewhere far ahead was Osgiliath, but even the lady’s elf eyes couldn’t see the city for the land was not flat between that city and the place they currently were. “How far is it to Osgiliath? I am afraid I have lost track of miles.”

“Nearly 15 miles, Lady Gloredhel. We’ll be lucky to get there by sunset.”

“Then we had better start walking.” She replied; she was very glad that she had chosen to wear trousers that day instead of a dress, which would have made walking for a long time more difficult.

“Do you want me to carry the boy?” Mablung asked as they started to walk down the trail.

“No, I’ll carry him for now. Poor boy has had a bad fright.” She replied. 

For hours they walked across flatlands and over hills. They only stopped twice to rest, but their pace was slow, since they had to carry Elboron almost all of the way. The sun had long since set, and the only illumination was from the stars and a dim moon, when Mablung and Gloredhel carrying Elboron in her arms crested the final hill and looked down upon the once great city of Osgiliath.

About ten years had passed since the end of the War of the Ring. Osgiliath, which had formerly been the capital of Gondor, had fallen into ruin after being depopulated during the Third Age and had been badly damaged during the Siege of Osgiliath by Sauron’s forces in March of T.A. 3019. The city had been partially repaired and rebuilt on the orders of the king, but there was still much work to be done, and the city was a shadow of its former glory.

They were hailed by a guard as soon as they reached the outskirts of East Osgiliath.

“Halt! Who goes there?” The guard cried.

This cry woke Elboron who was dozing in Gloredhel’s arms. “Mama, are the bad men back?”

“No, little one.” She replied. “We have reached Osgiliath. One of the guards hailed us. Try to go back to sleep, my child.”

Elboron closed his eyes and laid his head back down on his mother’s shoulder.

Mablung had started slightly when they were hailed. Even the nerves of the experienced ranger were slightly on edge after the long hours on foot. “Damrod, is that you?” He called.

A figure stepped out from the shadows of a ruined building and held up a lantern to illuminate the scene. “Mablung? What are you doing here this late? Who is that with you?” Even with the lantern the light was poor, and Damrod didn’t recognize the Steward’s wife.

“Lady Gloredhel and her son. We met trouble upon the road.” Mablung replied.

Damrod took another step forward so the light of the lantern illuminated all their faces. “When you didn’t get here by sunset, we didn’t expect you till the morrow.” He paused and looked around. “No horses?”

“We ran into a group of ruffians who stole the horses.” Mablung growled. “Can we stop running our mouths out here and go inside? We have been walking for 15 miles, and we’re both done in.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Damrod asked a note of concern in his voice. He had previously served with Faramir in the Ranger of Ithilien during the War of the Ring and wouldn’t have wanted anything to happen to the Steward’s family.

“No, we’re all alright. Just exhausted.”

“You can pass.” Damrod replied stepping out of the way. “I believe you know the way to the guest house.”

“I do.” Mablung replied.

The two left Damrod at the edge of the city and followed the winding paths, some lined still with rubble, through the darkened city. Osgiliath, though partially rebuilt, had few permanent residents except for the guards on both sides of the Anduin and the Warden of the City whose house along with the guesthouse/inn for travelers was on the east side of the river.

The Guesthouse was a medium-sized building two stories tall. It was made of stone; its door was made of strong wood reinforced with iron, and the two windows on the first floor had bars on them. Even though peace had returned to the land, since Osgiliath was not entirely secure, the inhabited buildings had been built with defense in mind. Though the hour was very late, a dim light still spilled around out from around the shutters. 

The wife of the innkeeper who had been sitting by the fireplace knitting started to her feet as Mablung pounded on the inn door. She called for her husband who came from a backroom.

“What is it, wife?” The innkeeper asked.

“The door.” She replied.

The innkeeper made his way cautiously over to the door. Only after he had looked through the peep hole to ascertain the identity of the knocker did he unbar and open the door.

“Come in! Come in!” The innkeeper cried pulling the door wide open.

Mablung entered first, stooping slightly to enter the door. Gloredhel followed carrying Elboron.

The innkeeper had a great shock when he recognized Gloredhel to be the Steward’s wife and Mablung to be one of the White Company.

“Why lady, what are you doing here this late?”

Mablung replied for her as she was busy with her son. “We were set upon by ruffians. Where is the warden?”

“In his house across the way, as far as I know, sir.” The innkeeper replied.

“Do you need anything for a few minutes, Lady Gloredhel?” Mablung asked turning for a moment back to her.

She shook her head, so the ranger turned back to the innkeeper. “Show me the way.”

The innkeeper and Mablung headed back outside. Once they were alone, the innkeeper’s wife turned back to her other guest. “Come, lady, I’ll show you to a room. You and your boy must be tired.”

“Thank you,” Gloredhel replied, “that would be very nice.”

The innkeeper’s wife led Gloredhel to the back of the house and up a flight of steps to the floor above. She opened the door that led into a small sitting room. “This is the best room in the house. I hope it will do. The bedroom is just through that door.”

Gloredhel spared the room a bare glance. “I’m sure it will do fine.” She moved toward the bedroom, the other lady leading the way. Once the lamps were lit and she could better see what she was doing, Gloredhel moved across to the bed and gently laid Elboron upon it. The boy opened his eyes slightly because of the movement, but seeing only his mother and another lady he quickly closed them again.

Gloredhel rubbed her aching arms and shoulders. Her strength as an elf was greater than a usual human woman, but even her arms ached badly after carrying her son for hours on end. She dimmed the lamps and then walked back into the sitting room. “Can you stay with Elboron for a few minutes?” She asked the other lady. “I’m going to go back downstairs to wait for Mablung to return with the warden.”

“Of course, milady, I’d be glad to. The poor thing must have had a bad fright.” The innkeeper’s wife replied.

Gloredhel simply nodded and stepped back into the doorway of the bedroom for a moment. “Elboron.” she said quietly.

“Yes, mama.” Was the quiet reply.

“I’m going to be downstairs for a few minutes, but this nice lady will sit with you until I am back.”

“Yes, mama.”

The other lady moved to take a seat by the bed, as Gloredhel headed back downstairs. Mablung was reentering with warden as she reached the bottom of the stairs. The Warden had been appointed to his task by the king in Fo.A. 1. He was tall man, about 50 years of age, with silvery grey hair and a short beard of the same color; even with his age the Warden was still an active man and quite capable of using a sword.

“Lady Gloredhel,” the warden said coming forward to greet her, “your guard told me what has happened. I’m very glad to hear that you are all alright.”

“Thank you, Lord Aradan. Ilúvatar was merciful to us today.” She replied.

The warden turned to Mablung and asked for more particulars on the identities and appearances of the robbers. The two talked for several minutes on this subject, and then when Aradan had given the information to a servant who had come with him, he turned back to Lady Gloredhel.

“As soon as I can write a message, I’ll send a messenger up to the city to tell the Steward what has occurred.”

The warden expected Gloredhel to agree to this, but she hesitated. Gloredhel looked over toward the clock on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. They had been in Osgiliath now for a little over twenty minutes, and the clock was fast ticking toward 10:00.

“It is very late.” She said softly almost like she was talking to herself or thinking out loud. “It would be past 11:00 by the time a messenger got to Minas Tirith. Faramir would already be in bed. It would wake half the city by the time a rider got to the King’s House.”

Gloredhel was very old, and for many years had been used to almost exclusively relying on herself or on her twin brother when trouble came. This left her with a bad tendency to not always ask for help, even if she would probably acknowledge that she needed it if asked point blank.

“Why don’t you wait and send a message in the morning?” She spoke slowly as if not totally sure of her words.

“But lady . . .” The innkeeper opened his mouth to argue but was cut off by a warning sign from Mablung.

Their conversation was temporarily interrupted as the innkeeper’s wife called down from above. “Lady.”

Gloredhel moved back to the steps and looked up to see the other lady standing at the top of the steps. “Yes?”

“Your boy is awake again. He keeps calling for his father.” 

“Thank you. I’ll be back up in a minute.”

Gloredhel kept starring up the steps for a moment even after the lady had departed back to sit with Elboron. Even though she was an elf, exhaustion was evident in all her features. Her shoulders were slumped. She had wrapped her arms protectively around herself, partly to rest her aching arms.

The warden looked at her for a moment and then spoke again carefully. “Do you want me to send a message to the Steward or not?”

This time there was no hesitation when she spoke. “Yes, do send a message. Thank you, warden.” Even her voice was weary.

The warden gave a deep bow to the lady and then returned to his own lodging to prepare the message.

The innkeeper bared the door as the warden left. Gloredhel watched him leave and then turned to go back upstairs.

“I’ll be down here if you need me, lady.” Mablung called after her.

Gloredhel paused on the steps. “Thank you, Mablung.”

The tired elf walked slowly back to her temporary quarters. With a word of thanks she dismissed the innkeeper’s wife, and she took a seat on the bed beside her son. Elboron opened his eyes as the mattress shifted for he was only dozing fitfully.

“Sing sometime, Mama, please.” 

“What song do you want me to sing?” She asked struggling to keep her voice even. Gloredhel was exhausted mentally and physically, and it was difficult to keep her emotions in check.

“The song about the trees, Mama.”

Gloredhel’s brow furrowed for a minute, as she tried to decipher which song her song meant. After a moment she figured it out and began to sing in soft, clear voice the same song Galadriel had sung in Lórien some years before.

As soon as the warden had left the Guesthouse, he hurried back across the way to his own home. A servant opened the front door as soon as he saw his master coming. 

“Tell one of the riders to prepare his horse. I need a message taken up to the city as quickly as possible once I write it.”

“Yes, sir.” The servant replied and hurried off.

The warden meanwhile walked quickly into his own study and sitting down at his desk rummaged through a pile of papers to find an unmarked sheet. Finding this he hurriedly began to write out a message for the steward. A couple minutes later another man, apparently a guard of the city, hurried into the room. He had apparently been roused out of bed, for his hair was rumpled and his clothes wrinkled and he was still pulling on his cloak and gloves. 

“I am here, sir.” He said. “A groom is preparing my horse.”

“Good,” replied the warden handing him a roll of paper which he had just finished sealing with his own seal, “I want you to take this scroll up to the steward in Minas Tirith. And be quick about it!”

The guard wondered the cause of this message for which he had been hurriedly roused from his bed, but he was too well trained to ask questions. He simply took the scroll from the warden’s hand and after making a low bow hurried back outside. He grabbed the reins from the waiting groom and leapt into the saddle. He spurred his horse into a run and galloped toward the bridge across the Anduin. 

The rider was eventually forced to slow his pace, and so covered the roughly ten miles across the river and down the causeway in about an hour and twenty minutes. He had departed Osgiliath about 10:00, and it was nearing 11:20 at night when he rode up to the Great Gate. He was stopped by the guards just inside the Gate.

“Who goes there?” One said.

“A guard from Osgiliath.” He replied. “I bear a message from the warden for the steward.”

“At this hour.”

“I just follow orders. I don’t ask questions.” The guard from Osgiliath snapped.

The guards of the city waved him on past, and he started to make his way up through the levels up to the Citadel. The way the gates to the next levels were situated at different compass points made defense easier, but it made moving between the levels of the city much slower. Therefore it took some minutes before the guard stopped his horse at the stables on the Sixth Level. He preceded the rest of the way on foot. 

The guard was met by a palace servant as he approached the entrance to the King’s House.

“Who do you seek?” The servant asked.

“The steward,” the guard replied. “I have a message for him from the Warden of Osgiliath.”

“You’re in luck. The king and the steward are still up even at this hour. Just follow me.” The servant said and moved off into the King’s House expecting the other to follow.

Even though it was near 11:30 and fast moving on toward midnight, Aragorn and Faramir were still awake, pouring over maps and some new reports that had come in from several outposts in the east. Aragorn’s study was not a large room. The main light in the room came from a large fireplace at one end and several oil lamps on the walls that sent a flicking light reflecting over the polished wood of the walls and the grey stones of the floor. There was also a window at the opposite end of the room from the fireplace, but curtains were usually drawn over it. The king’s desk stood next to the window. There was a large table in the center of the room on which several maps and reports were spread. Several bookcases also lined the walls that were stacked with books, scrolls, and other rolled maps. Several maps, one of the whole known portion of Middle Earth and several of specific areas of Ea, were hung on the walls. 

Aragorn and Faramir were bent over the table, debating quietly some aspect of a possible response to the reports, when a knock sounded on the study door. 

“Enter,” called the king.

The palace servant entered and made a low bow to the king and a shallower one to the steward. “A messenger has come from Osgiliath with a message for the steward.”

Faramir’s face grew puzzled and then grave as he heard this news. Good news did not have a habit of coming in the middle of the night. He was concerned that something had happened to his family.

“Send him in!” Said the king.

The servant bowed and left the room, returning a moment later with the guard from Osgiliath.

“You have a message for me?” Faramir said.

“Yes, sir,” replied the messenger, “from the warden.” He pulled the scroll from a bag hanging on his belt and handed it to the steward.

Faramir took the scroll, glanced quickly at the seal, and then broke it open and began to read the missive. His face grew graver and a touch worried as he read, though only the king who stood nearby noticed the change.

“Send a message down to the stables to have my horse saddled and then find a bed for the messenger for the night.” He said tersely to the servant.

“Of course, milord.” The servant said and led the messenger out.

Only when they were alone did Faramir hand the message over to the king to read. Aragorn’s face also grew grave as he read the short missive from the warden. 

Faramir moved over to stand by the door and fastened on his cloak and sword belt as Aragorn finished reading.

“I will go at once, my king, if you can spare me.” 

“Of course, go! Take care of your family.” The king replied.

Faramir made a quick bow to the king and then hurried out. His horse was waiting for him when he reached the stables on the Sixth Level. The steward mounted quickly and cantered out of the city. 

As he had a better horse of Rohirrim stock, Faramir made slightly better time on the journey to Osgiliath than the messenger had on the journey from the city and reached the bridge across the Anduin at about 12:45 in the morning. A servant came out of the Warden’s house at the sound of horse hooves in the still night. Faramir threw the servant the reins and moved across toward the Guesthouse. The innkeeper had been expecting him and opened the door as he approached.

“Your wife and son are upstairs, milord; the first door on the right when you come up the stairs.” The innkeeper said, taking Faramir’s cloak.

After thanking the innkeeper Faramir moved quickly toward the steps which he took two at a time. Within a few moments he was approaching the half-open door to the room in which his family was temporarily staying.

Elboron had been dozing now for a while, and Gloredhel had gone out into the sitting room to wait for Faramir, leaving the door to the bedroom open a crack in case her son called for her. At first she had sat down on a couch in front of the blazing fire. But in spite of her exhaustion, she found it difficult to just sit still and do nothing, so she soon rose to her feet and began to pace slowly back and forth across the room.

Her mind was a restless as her body as she paced. Her thoughts flitted from one thing to another, replaying most often the scenes upon the road from that afternoon. The elf lady berated herself internally for not recognizing sooner the dangerous intent of the other travelers. Gloredhel was so distracted by these thoughts that she didn’t hear the hurried steps of the Steward as he entered the building.

The door to the room his family was staying in was half open as Faramir approached it. He saw his wife walking back and forth across the room, but as he approached the room, she paused for a moment in her restless pacing and stood gazing toward the fire.

Faramir moved though the doorway and pushed the door almost shut behind him; it slid silently shut on well-oiled hinges. Still Gloredhel didn’t react, didn’t even seem to notice someone else was in the room. 

“Gloredhel?” Faramir said quietly.

Gloredhel had stopped her pacing temporally and stood gazing into the fire lost in thought. She didn’t even notice when Faramir had entered the room, and thus she was startled when his voice broke the stillness of the night. She whirled around, a look of delight on her face.

Faramir opened his arms as his wife ran to him and wrapped her tightly in his embrace. The warden’s note had said that his wife and son were unhurt but had been very scarce on the details of what had actually happened, and Faramir had not been sure what he would find when he reached Osgiliath. He pressed his cheek against the top of her head and just held her for a few moments. Then after pressing a kiss to her hair, he drew back to arm’s length so he could see her face and asked.

“What happened, my love? The warden said in his note that you had met trouble upon the road.”

Gloredhel nodded and went to speak but couldn’t seem to get the words out around the lump in her throat. 

“Where’s Elboron?” Faramir asked, gently rubbing his hands up and down her shoulders.

The lady gestured towards the next room. Just then a little voice came from the half open door.

“Mama? Where are you, Mama? What’s that noise?”

Glancing down at his wife and seeing that she didn’t have enough control over her emotions to reply, Faramir answered for her, “Mama is out here, Elboron, and so is your father.”

A moment passed and then a small form dwarfed by a large white tunic appeared in the doorway. 

“Papa,” the boy cried and ran toward his father.

Faramir caught his son up in his arms and held him close with a murmured prayer of thanks to Eru for the safety of his wife and son. Elboron wrapped an arm around his father’s neck and laid his head down upon his father’s shoulder.

Paying only half her attention to the quiet murmur of voices as father and son spoke, Gloredhel moved a few steps away, trying to keep a hold on her composure and nerves that had been worn to a frazzle in these last few long hours. She needed to be strong for a little while longer; she didn’t want to let her son see how much the incidents of the day had rattled her, too. She turned her back to them for a moment, pressing her hands to her face in an attempt to hold back a flood of tears.

After a few minutes Gloredhel turned back as Faramir called her name.

“Elboron wants another hug before I carry him back to bed.”

This brought a small smile to her face, and she held out her arms. Faramir crossed the room over to his wife, and Elboron leaned across and wrapped his small arms around his mother’s neck and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“Goodnight, Mama.”

Gloredhel kissed his forehead and smoothed away a few stray locks of hair. “Goodnight, my son.”

Faramir carried his son into the next room; Gloredhel remained in the sitting room outside. He returned in only a short while. Moving across to his wife, he wrapped again in his embrace. She felt so very tired, and it was nice to just rest her head against his shoulder.

“Is Elboron asleep?” She asked after a minute.

“Almost as soon as his head hit the pillow,” Faramir replied.

“Good,” said she in a quiet voice, “the poor boy was exhausted. It was a hard day for him.”

“And for you, also, my love.”

“The years of my live have been long, and many a battle and dangerous situation I have been in,” said Gloredhel in a voice that was starting to shake, “but I don’t think I have ever been as frightened as I was today. Not for myself, for I do not fear to die again, but for Elboron.” 

Her voice had started to shake midway through, and by the end she was in tears. For hours she had held her emotions in check, but now as the stress of the day started to bleed off, she could keep them in check no longer. Her shoulders started to shake with silent sobs, and she buried her face in her husband’s shoulder.

Keeping one arm around her back, Faramir stroked her hair with his other hand. He didn’t try to soothe her yet, but for the moment he just held her as she cried and let out the built up emotion and stress of the long, hard day. 

After a few minutes her sobs started to quiet. Faramir pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and handed it to her. Gloredhel quickly wiped her eyes and face and then returned it to him.

“We should try to get some sleep,” he said, “it is very late.”

Gloredhel nodded and followed him into the next room. Elboron was lying sound asleep in the middle of the bed; his face was peaceful. She was glad to see this, after his tears earlier. The two parents streaked themselves out on either side of the boy; the bed was really too narrow for three people, but they would make do. Now that her exhaustion had finally caught up with her, Gloredhel was soon asleep, but it was some little while longer before Faramir found respite in sleep, as he watched over his family and thanked Eru that they had escaped this danger without lasting harm.


End file.
